


When We Are

by flootiger



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adult Content, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Captain America: The First Avenger, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Smut, Wakanda (Marvel), Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24574012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootiger/pseuds/flootiger
Summary: Destiny isn’t something Steve believes in, as a rule, but he's fairly certain Bucky is his.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 15
Kudos: 192





	When We Are

**Author's Note:**

> Basically my take on Steve and Bucky from Brooklyn to Wakanda. Plz forgive how utterly unoriginal this is. Thank you for reading!

Steve is thirteen when he meets Bucky for the first time. 

He’s just been knocked to the ground by a bunch of Brooklyn hooligans and is attempting to stagger back onto his feet when out of nowhere his aggressor is thrown onto the side of the road with a yelp and his pack scatters with a hasty spray of asphalt. 

“Why don't you pick on someone your own size?” A boy with slightly too long hair and raised fists is standing over the flinching attacker. 

“I ain’t pickin’ on anybody who don’t deserve it,” the boy spits in Steve’s direction. 

Steve scrambles up and glares down at him. “That book didn’t belong to you.” He’d accosted the boy as he’d been attempting to steal a book from a girl a few years younger than him and Steve had been unable to ignore that, it wasn’t _right_. 

“You ain’t no saviour of the neighbourhood,” the bully jeers. “Stay outta here if you know what’s good for you.” 

Steve is about to retort but the new boy jerks his fist at his adversary on the floor and it is enough to send him crawling backwards to escape as quickly as possible. 

“Keep runnin’!” The new boy yells after him and then turns, grinning, to Steve. “That’ll show him.” 

Steve is relieved but disgruntled. He _had_ that and he tells the new boy so. 

The boy scoffs and yokes an arm around Steve’s neck, pulling him close and laughing freely. “You’re gonna either need some magic muscle medicine or you’re gonna need me.” 

Steve scowls and shoves the boy off him. 

The boy only laughs again, so utterly content with the person he is that Steve can’t help but join in. Soon they are howling on the street corner, elderly women with curlers in their hair bestowing disapproving looks on them as they hurry past. 

When they can breathe once more the boy sticks out his hand. “I’m James, but my friends call me Bucky.” 

“Bucky,” Steve repeats, sounding the name out with his lips and smiling up at his new friend. He shakes Bucky’s hand. “I’m Steve.” 

___

They are eighteen when Bucky moves in. Steve has lost both his parents and most of his ability to look after himself. 

However, it has become abundantly clear that Bucky is not about to let him lose his way entirely. When he had told Steve he would be there for him until the end of the line, Steve had not understood it as an offer to cohabit. 

Yet he is here, clearing dirty plates off the counter and folding away Steve’s clothes that have lain rumpled in a depressed heap on the floor for days. 

“You gotta get some more light in this place, darkness isn’t good for the soul,” Bucky is telling him. “You need sunlight and a good time.” 

Steve is slumped on the sofa that sits in the middle of his studio apartment in Brooklyn, a dusty tendril of sun suddenly warming the back of his neck as Bucky whips back the curtains. 

“You said you don’t need me but everyone needs someone and I’m your someone,” Bucky is saying. He’s now unpacking his boxers and shoving them haphazardly into the drawer that Steve uses for his own. “Ma says you gotta come round at least every Sunday, for lunch, she says.” 

A twinge of appreciation rushes over Steve and he watches his friend move about the room. He knows Bucky’s mother is offering more than food, she’s offering him a refuge. Right now he can’t find the words to say thank you but he will tell Bucky so, will make sure he repays him for the kindness. Bucky is such a good soul. 

He had arrived unannounced that morning, a small trunk of his belongings tucked under one arm and the morning papers in the other and declared he was moving in. Surprised but acquiescent, Steve had stood aside as his best friend had strolled in as if this was the most natural thing in the world. It’s a tiny space and Steve just about has the thinking power to realise this may not work, practically speaking. 

“Where are you gonna sleep, Buck?” Steve says now, looking around the small apartment and glancing pointedly at the one bed that sits just below the large panelled window. 

Bucky seems to be done for now and throws himself onto the couch beside Steve, close enough to feel the hefty warmth of his well-built frame against Steve’s smaller one. 

Bucky shrugs and says without looking at Steve, “we’ll figure it out.” 

It turns out figuring it out means Bucky climbing in right beside Steve ‘for warmth’ as the cold of the night settles in around them, forcing Bucky from his vigil on the sofa and under the feathery covers of Steve’s bed. They don’t touch that first night, but soon it becomes commonplace for one to end up in the other’s space, limbs tangled, faces pressed into arms. They both put it down to an unconscious bid to escape the chill but Steve is beginning to feel something low and dangerous tug in his abdomen that has nothing to do with the cold. 

–––

They are twenty when Steve finally realises that Bucky is it for him. Endgame, true love, The One. 

“You see that? You see that?” Dolores screeches and waves an excitable hand up at the colourful sky. Bucky cinches an arm snug around her waist and pulls her close, glancing over his shoulder as he does so to check on Steve and Betsy. 

Steve gives him a lopsided smile to let him know he’s fine, that he’s enjoying the 4th of July firework display and that he appreciates Bucky bringing him a date along. 

“I see it, doll, I see them all.” Bucky turns back to Dolores and grins up at the sky, his face relaxed and lovely as it is lit up by a thousand overhead sparks. 

Bucky is sweet on Dolores so Steve sucks it up and tries to hold hands with Betsy, who, whether intentionally or not, jerks her hand to wave up at the fighter jets looping through the air on show. 

“Gosh they are so _brave_ ,” she sighs and Steve does not miss the wistful lilt of her voice. 

“You should see Steve here, bravest man I know,” Bucky tilts his head back again to shout over the din of explosions and pumped up New Yorkers. 

Something akin to shame washes over Steve as he half-smiles at his best friend’s compliment. He is not brave. 

Betsy gracefully tries to hide her disbelief as she says, “really?” But Steve can feel the dubious stare up and down his small frame as she assesses his ability for bravery. 

“Sure,” Bucky goes on and reaches over to affectionately shove Steve’s shoulder. “Never says no to a fight.”

Betsy smiles tightly as though she’s made up her mind that Bucky is, in fact, bullshitting. 

Steve turns his head skywards to focus on the fireworks again and shoves his hands deep in his pocket as he does so. What Bucky has kindly omitted is the frequency as which he has had to bail Steve out of a scuffle. Bucky has always had his back and has asked for nothing else in return except simple and unadulterated friendship. He parades Steve out like he’s the best thing in the world, brings him along to meet girls and go to fairs and the pictures, even his family roast every Sunday. Bucky means every goddamn thing to Steve and it hurts like hell. 

When he glances back to his friend once more Bucky is laughing at something Dolores said and Steve’s heart gives a dull throb. It is painful to realise that the one person he wants more than anything in the world he cannot have, the world is not kind to people like him. 

–––

When Bucky comes round from his stupor he sees Steve as Captain America for the first time, _really_ sees him. When Steve had half dragged him from the HYDRA facility his friend had barely been lucid and as soon as he was able to he’d collapsed onto a cot in Steve’s tent, out for the count for so long Steve had had time to plot their next plan of attack with Agent Carter and the Generals. Although many of the team are still there now, albeit more casually, Peggy had noticed his jittering leg and whispered gently, “ _got to him_.” 

He’d made a swift exit after that and for the past hour has been perched in a canvas chair, feet propped up on Bucky’s cot as he flips through maps of suspected HYDRA locations. 

“Holy shit, Stevie. Is that really you?” Bucky croaks. 

The maps are on the floor in an instant as Steve leans forward eagerly to be close to his friend. Bucky looks beat, purple crescents are daubed under his eyes and bruises mar his cheekbones.

“It’s me,” Steve assures him, still uncomfortable with the appraising looks people now cast over him, even Bucky. Especially Bucky. 

Bucky swallows. “Huh, it’s usually me cleaning up after you.” 

Steve bows his head modestly and smiles. “Times are changing.” 

“You got big,” Bucky says, managing half a chuckle before coughing roughly. “What d’they do to you?” 

“Magic muscle medicine,” Steve says with a shy grin. His whole being is thrumming with delight that his friend is back with him and without thinking he reaches out to grab Bucky’s hand that is laying limp on the covers. 

Bucky startles but then relaxes and grips Steve’s fingers back hard, tethering them both in the moment. 

“Buck, I…,” Steve begins, unsure what he wants to say and aware that whatever it is he must be careful. “I can’t lose you, I thought I had, I lo—”

Bucky’s hand squeezes his own and it takes him a split second before he realises Bucky is pulling Steve to him, right to him, until Steve is hovering above Bucky and it is so close that he can count the flecks of brown in the green eyes that are suddenly so awake and so alive and so… 

Before either can back away from what they know is about to happen, their lips touch and Steve can hardly breathe. Tasting Bucky for the first time sends his brain into overdrive and he fights against a carnal instinct to climb on top of Bucky and feel his whole body beneath his own. Bucky’s lips are rough beneath his, nervous but questing as a tongue swipes out to lick at Steve’s lower lip. 

A shout from outside breaks them apart, a painful reminder that they cannot, _must not_ , do this. 

Steve sits back, face flushed and crotch tingling. “Fuck.” 

Bucky arches one eyebrow from the bed. “I didn’t know Captain America swore.” 

Warmth spreads through his belly at the normalcy of the interaction as he nudges the cot with a foot in mock castigation. “Are you just doing this because I got pretty?” Steve asks, curious. 

“Baby boy, you were always pretty to me,” Bucky says and Steve grins, feeling for all the world like the champion America wants him to be. 

___

When Steve loses Bucky for a second time he loses his world. 

He will never forgive himself. 

___

The first thing he cries out is Bucky’s name when he wakes up. He is alone. A radio is playing an old baseball game, the fuzzy static disorienting him as he looks around the room, frantic. Why is it an old game? 

Bucky. 

Steve has woken up without Bucky a million times before but this time the absence is crushing, a cavity in his chest that aches so much Steve cries out again in anguish. 

“ _Bucky_!” 

For the next four years he wakes up crying out Bucky’s name.

___

Steve is ready to kill when they meet again for the first time in 70 years. 

The Winter Soldier’s mask has been ripped from his face and despite the hair that hangs grimy over his murderous eyes, Steve’s reaction is immediate and visceral. Someone has reached into his ribcage and wrenched his heart out. 

“Bucky?” 

The moment hangs heavy between the two soldiers amidst the pandemonium of their battle. How is this possible? Steve had watched as Bucky plummeted 200 metres into a deadly ravine. He had to helplessly look on as his best friend died and he couldn’t do a damn thing to save him. He had to learn how to live with that, how to shoulder his grief for the sake of the world. Steve had grieved, had fought for vengeance, had to relearn how to _exist_ without Bucky. 

And now he is standing before him, hair longer, eyes colder. But still Steve’s Bucky. 

There is a flicker of something in Bucky’s eyes. Then he says, “Who the hell is Bucky?” 

Sam explodes from the sky and Bucky is knocked backwards. Steve is still staring, unable to move his limbs as Bucky is back on his feet raising a gun to aim straight at his heart. 

A truck explodes, engulfing Bucky in a heavy cloud of black smoke and when it has cleared he is gone. 

___

When they meet alone for the first time since 1945 Steve knows this is their second chance. 

Steve has slipped quiet as a cat into Bucky’s last known location, a squalid room in Bucharest with damp walls and newspapers at the windows. He eyes the battered mattress in one corner and surveys the abode, hesitantly hoping Bucky will be hidden in a dark corner. He isn’t, of course, the Winter Soldier would have been alerted and fled long before anyone could step foot in the place. Even Captain America. 

Suddenly, an almost imperceptible noise puts Steve on high alert, as though a piece of paper has fluttered gently to the ground. He tenses, his shield raised. 

He was wrong, Bucky had not fled. 

“Do you know me?” He asks, praying that he is in a room with Bucky and not the Winter Soldier. 

Bucky looks at him, eyes dull. “You’re Steve. I read about you in a museum.” 

“I know you’re nervous, you have plenty of reason to be.” Steve inhales. “But you’re lying. You know me. You _really_ know me.” 

Bucky doesn’t move, doesn’t even acknowledge Steve has spoken to him. Steve is barely breathing himself, desperately wanting to cross the small gulf of the space between them and hold Bucky in his arms but not wanting to alarm his friend. It has been so long and they have both been through so much and they have changed beyond recognition. The last time they were even in a room together was his little apartment in Brooklyn all those decades ago and since then they’d stolen secret kisses and touches in Steve’s army tent on the front lines, never able to do more for fear of being found out. Then Bucky had been ripped from him, had _died_ , had been brainwashed out of the Bucky who had let Steve have the last piece of popcorn at the movies, had fought off half of Brooklyn to keep Steve from harm, had kissed him like every kiss was their last. Until it was. 

“Steve,” Bucky says again and this time his voice breaks. 

“Buck,” Steve whispers, his heart splintering at the agony he hears in Bucky’s voice. “I’m here, Buck, I’m right here.” 

Slowly, he removes his helmet and lays his shield down to rest on the tarnished tabletop and steps forward. They haven’t been around each other without combat since the war and the emotions threaten to overcome him. There is so much hurt in Bucky’s eyes and Steve doesn’t know how to fix him. The Winter Soldier has eaten away at the Bucky Steve knew like a parasite, has seeped into his soul and ripped him apart from the inside. 

Silently, he moves toward Bucky until they are breathing shared air. “I’m right here,” he repeats and this time Bucky nods, the feline-like corners of his lips that Steve adores so much downturned in misery. Without breaking eye contact Steve brings one hand up to cup Bucky’s cheek, barely letting himself belief that Bucky, _his Bucky_ , is standing right before him, his hot skin beneath his fingers. 

“I thought I had lost you,” Steve utters, his voice cracked. “Twice. Bucky… twice.” It takes everything in him not to cry, not to collapse sobbing into Bucky’s arms and he can feel Bucky tremble as though he is feeling the same. “But you came back.” 

Bucky’s eyes slip shut, his brow furrowed. He carries the weight of the world, Steve knows this. 

“You were the one that brought me back,” he murmurs. A breath catches in Steve’s throat as he brings up his other hand so Bucky’s face is held safely between his palms. “You… your voice, your face, the fuckin’ feeling in my goddamn heart, Steve.” Bucky opens his eyes once more and jerks forward unexpectedly so their foreheads are pressed together. Steve’s heart is hammering and Bucky is breathing hard. 

“You meant something to me,” Bucky’s words are spat through gritted teeth and his fists come up to thump anguished against Steve’s chest. “You meant everything to me. Is that right? Everything?” 

Bucky needs to know. Steve brushes a soothing thumb over the skin above Bucky’s stubble and nods slowly. “Everything, Buck.” 

He hadn’t been sure how much Bucky would have remembered but holding him here in this room it’s as though nothing and no one can touch them, as though time is cradling them in a cocoon the outside world cannot penetrate. He knows it’s okay to divulge this much now, but he will not push Bucky for anything else. 

But then, Bucky nudges forward and kisses Steve hard. It’s not romantic, there are no teenage butterflies, no tenderness. It’s forceful and needy and the frenzied noise in the back of Bucky’s throat makes Steve push his fingers into Bucky’s loose hair and anchor them both, wanting so much to hold him together. 

“Buck,” he mouths into the kiss. “Oh God, Buck.” 

There is a crackly voice in his ear and he knows their time is up. 

___

When Bucky chooses to put himself back into cryo it takes everything in Steve not to smash up Shuri’s lab and stop the whole damn procedure. 

“I can’t keep losing you,” he had whispered against Bucky’s jawline the previous night. 

“You know where I am this time,” Bucky consoles. 

They are wrapped in each other’s arms, bathed in the moonlight that shines in through the panoramic window overlooking Wakanda’s urban hub. T’Challa has housed them in a prestigiously decorated suite on one of the upper floors of the palace, tucked safely away from watchful eyes. Steve trusts his hosts but he is wont to overprotectiveness when it comes to Bucky. The less people that know he is here, the better. 

“It took 70 years for you to come back to me,” Steve says. “I don’t think I can wait that long again.” 

Bucky shifts on the bed and his hand nudges beneath Steve’s chin. “C’mere.” 

Steve obliges and shifts up the bed, half laying over Bucky, one leg thrown across the other man, one arm resting on his broad chest. Although the pain has dulled in Bucky’s once bright eyes, it is never far below the surface. Steve has had to battle with the demons right alongside Bucky for the past few weeks as they have travelled incognito to Wakanda. 

Despite a persistent dread that had followed them both round every corner, they had taken the time to learn how to be together again. Thoughts of illicit touches in dingy motel rooms, of lips in the most secret of places, of fingers, tongues all over each other, mingle with the impending doom of saying goodbye to Bucky in just a few hours time. 

Bucky is gazing up at him, as relaxed as Steve has seen him since Brooklyn. “You know you’re it for me, Stevie. Ain’t nobody going to stop me coming back to you this time. The world could just do without me now.” 

Steve bites his tongue on a petulant retort and instead attempts a smile that he knows does not reach his eyes. 

They make out slowly, wanting to taste what they will soon again be denied, and Steve feels Bucky arch up. The subconscious movement makes Steve’s belly swirl pleasantly, knowing that just weeks ago Bucky would balk before he could allow himself to touch or be touched as they both wanted. Steve always took control but he watched carefully, making sure Bucky was okay, that he wanted this each time. What began as furtive kisses under the cloak of darkness became spontaneous touches in the shower, urgent grunts to assure Steve to keep going. When Bucky let Steve press two fingers inside him for the first time Steve had almost lost control completely but the vice-like grip Bucky had kept on his arm had prevented him from going any further. Not until he was ready. 

“When you see me again I’ll be more like the old Bucky again,” Bucky now says as one of Steve’s hands trails gently down Bucky’s abdomen and takes his cock in hand. “Ahh,” Bucky arches again, pushing himself into Steve’s fist and sighing. 

Steve peppers kisses along Bucky’s stubbled jawline. “I like every Bucky.” 

“Even the Bucky with one arm?” Bucky says and Steve can feel him wince as he acknowledges his missing limb, the limb that had caused so much destruction, the weight of which Bucky now carries with him wherever he goes. 

“Buck,” Steve murmurs, finding Bucky’s lips again and clambering over Bucky’s prone body laying back against the pillows. “I love you. All of you. Even the absent bits.” 

Bucky, usually so stoic these days, widens his eyes in astonishment.

Steve doesn’t expect a reply, Bucky is no longer verbose. 

“You gotta have known that?” Bucky remains silent so Steve goes on. “Ever since forever, ‘cept it took me a few years to realise it. But you know, I’m telling you now. This,” he releases Bucky’s cock and stokes up the length of his body. “Is it for me too.” 

Bucky nods slowly and pulls Steve down until their lips connect. Wet, hot little kisses are exchanged until they are both panting and hard. 

“Lay back,” Steve instructs. 

“I am,” Bucky lifts one corner of his mouth slightly. 

Steve ignores the rejoinder and instead trails open mouthed kisses down Bucky’s jaw, his throat, his chest, taking a nipple between his teeth and tugging until Bucky moans. When he reaches Bucky’s cock he does not stop, pressing his lips against the rosy tip before licking up the length and taking him carefully into his mouth. Bucky hisses through clenched teeth and Steve places splayed hands against his stomach to hold him still. The taste of Bucky on his lips is like nectar to Steve, and he swallows, savouring everything about the experience as he does not know when or if they will be able to do this again. 

“Yes, yes,” Bucky pants and his hands are grabbing at Steve’s hair, longer than it had been a few weeks prior. 

With kisses and licks Steve urges Bucky closer and closer to climax. The soldier’s supple body is shuddering beneath Steve, slowly unravelling just as he had intended. He wants Bucky to relax, to enjoy this moment, to give himself up and be free if only for a few precious minutes. 

“Steve,” Bucky says, all his words low and breathy. 

Without removing his mouth from Bucky’s cock Steve uses one arm to loop behind Bucky’s knee and he leans forward, easing him back slightly. 

“Do it,” Bucky grits before gasping when Steve pulls back and laps up the bead of precome at the tip of his cock. 

Steve looks up at him and his own cock twitches excitedly at the dark man laying open on the bedspread, the most vulnerable Steve knows he has been in so long. 

“Do what?”

Bucky breathes through his nose and closes his eyes. “Fingers.” The word comes out fast and Steve knows Bucky is still battling through the same hangover of shame that he struggles with too. Together they have overcome so much and are living in a new dawn, but it’s not always easy to forget where they came from. 

“This is ok, Buck,” Steve promises and drops his lips to Bucky’s hipbone. 

“I know,” Bucky assents. “It’s just this… fuck, Steve. This means—”

“I know,” Steve repeats and crawls up Bucky’s body to press his mouth to his, their cocks slick against each other with Steve’s saliva. “Relax for me, I’ve got you.” 

Bucky nods and jams his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. A finger trails steadily back down Bucky’s torso, over the battle scars and muscles that ripple beneath tanned skins until he rubs a testing finger around Bucky’s opening. It is tight so Steve gently circles it before reaching over Bucky for the lube that has been shoved into the bedside drawer.

He makes sure he is kissing Bucky when his finger pushes past the tight ring of his friend’s, lover’s, hole. Bucky goes rigid and gasps, open mouthed as their foreheads press together. 

“Okay?” Steve checks. 

As Bucky nods he rocks forward, closing his eyes against the tight heat around his digit and rutting his hardness against Bucky’s. 

“Holy fuck. I feel you,” Bucky exhales. “Inside me.”

Something low coils in Steve’s abdomen and he eases his finger in and out of Bucky’s body. The fact that they are together, like this, is almost enough to make him come untouched. He allows himself to thrust his cock against Bucky’s, the soft friction of their flesh together building up until he knows he is close. 

“ _Harder_.” 

The unexpected command pushes Steve over the edge and with a cry he comes against Bucky, mashing their lips together and feeling the other man tremble into his own release. 

Bucky’s chest is heaving and he wraps spent limbs around Steve, holding them so close there is nothing between them. How will Steve cope without him again? 

“Come back to me,” he whispers. “Promise me.” 

“I promise.” 

This promise keeps Steve going, allows him to smile the next day when Shuri jokes about the two of them needing to cool down anyway, it pushes him to fight for justice when he’s needed, to keep going until he can be with Bucky again. It’s enough for now. 

___

Steve is having dinner with Clint and Natasha when he gets the text from Shuri. 

In need of an evening off, the three of them have convened in Clint’s countryside home complete with a bottle of wine and two pint-size tornados clambering over each other to show Steve their new favourite toys. 

As ever Steve is present enough to enjoy the company of his friends, but absent enough that Natasha notices. 

She kicks his leg fondly under the table and Steve jerks up. “He’ll be okay,” Natasha reassures him. 

Clint nods in agreement. 

Steve is a terrible friend, he does not deserve these people who love him despite everything he puts them through. 

It’s then that his phone buzzes and he digs into his jeans to extract it. 

_He’s out_

Steve leaps up so suddenly that he upsets the table, spilling a couple of glasses of wine in the process. “God, oh no, I’m so sorry!” 

Clint shakes his head, “Doesn’t matter. What’s happened?” 

“Nothing.. well, everything. I gotta go…” Steve looks round frantically as though hoping a plane will materialise in the dining room that he can board immediately and beeline for Wakanda in. 

“Steve? What is it?” 

Natasha is genuinely concerned and it is this that anchors Steve long enough to say; “Bucky’s awake.” 

He doesn’t need to say more. Clint has dialled for Fury and Natasha is calling a car that can take him to the nearest airfield. 

____

When they make love for the first time it is fraught and desperate. The need to get as close as possible to each other overwhelms them both, so long denied. 

Their reunion has pushed them past the tentative touches and slow ministrations they’d enjoyed before Bucky was in cryo and as soon as Steve throws open the door to Bucky’s temporary home in rural Wakanda they are in each other’s arm, lips hungry and urgent words uttered only when they break apart to breathe. 

“I love you.” 

“Waited too long.” 

“Want to feel you.” 

“Never saying goodbye again.” 

“Steve.” 

“ _Bucky_.” 

They fall onto the palette that furnishes Bucky’s hut, fumbling to yank clothes off until they are tangled, naked, like Achilles and Patroclus. It’s sticky and hot, the dim twilight filtering through the small window and illuminating their skin in dusky hues. 

Bucky is keening beneath Steve, trying to rub their cocks together. Hands are everywhere, eager for contact. 

“What do you—” Steve begins. But Bucky cuts him off. 

“All of you, all the way,” Bucky pants and wraps his legs around Steve, kissing him again and again. 

Then Bucky rolls over, turning his head so one cheek is pressed against the patterned pillow on the palette. Soft, long hair hides the rest of his pretty face and Steve swipes it aside, wanting to see as much of Bucky as he can. _His Bucky_ is there, presenting himself and ready to give everything he can to Steve. He bows to place a loving kiss to the corner of Bucky’s lips. 

“Buck…” Steve breathes. “Oh Buck.” He appraises Bucky’s behind with questing palms, kneading an ass cheek and spreading Bucky just enough until he can see what he has coveted for so long. “Goddamn perfect.” 

Bucky makes an embarrassed sound but pushes his ass back off the low bed. Lube is sourced and Steve hauls Bucky’s ass higher with a strong arm around his waist. 

“C’mon,” Bucky growls. Steve grins at the assertion he hears in Bucky’s voice, so different from their last encounter over a year previously. He owes Shuri big time. 

Sweat glistens over the golden skin of Bucky’s back and makes Steve groan, unable to believe the view. He briefly thinks back to their innocent nights sharing a bed in his Brooklyn apartment, how if he could tell eighteen year old Steve this is where the two of them would end up he would not only not believe him, but would likely try to fight him for even making the suggestion. 

Two slick fingers press inside Bucky. “Fuckin’ hell.” Bucky swears. 

“Shh,” Steve hushes him, soothes him, as he feels Bucky tense then relax at the intrusion. The warmth enveloping his digits makes something bestial threaten to take over and he takes a steadying breath, pulling out then pushing back in until he is fucking Bucky steadily with his hand. Two fingers, three fingers and then Bucky whines impatiently. 

“Now,” he instructs and Steve understands, cannot wait any longer either. 

“You’re a goddamn wet dream, Buck, I swear to god” he says, dropping two final kisses to the small of Bucky’s back before lining the blunt head of his cock, slick with lube, against Bucky’s wet hole. 

As he pushes inside Bucky for the first time they both cry out. Bucky roars, his fists grabbing handfuls of the bedding as he fights to allow the penetration. Steve’s hips ease forward, a fluttering hand petting Bucky’s ass to sooth. Mesmerised by the way his cock fills Bucky, Steve groans and pulses gently to allow Bucky to take him. 

“Okay?” He checks, gripping Bucky’s hips. 

Bucky moans in response and nods. “C’mon Rogers, fuck me.” 

Steve’s hips snap forward and before long the heat is building once more between them, the only sound their urgent intonations of _faster, more, I need it_. 

Beneath him Bucky is as sweet as sin, his hips pushing back to meet Steve’s thrusts, his pretty lips forming ‘o’s of pleasure. He is delectable and Steve knows he will never, ever get tired of him. Bucky is everything to him. His whole world right here beneath him, being screwed by him. The amount of trust Steve knows it has taken for Bucky to let him do this is huge and Steve’s throat constricts at the thought. He will never hurt Bucky, he will never stop loving him. 

He pulls Bucky upright, holding him closely to his chest as he fucks into him from behind. 

“I don’t need anything but this, not ever again,” he assures Bucky. “Baby…baby,” He pants the last two words and in response Bucky gasps needily, his arm reaching behind to thread his fingers into Steve’s hair. 

“Come for me, baby boy,” Steve urges quietly, using the forgotten nickname Bucky had bestowed on him all those years ago. “Let for for me.” 

They climax together, a hot mess of curse words, lips on the back of Bucky’s neck where his hair has been pushed aside, the tightest, hottest heat Steve has ever known. They go taught at the same time and before Steve can pull out of Bucky’s pink little hole he has come inside the soldier. 

Bucky doesn’t seem to mind and Steve reaches round to jack his cock until Bucky follows Steve moments later with a cry. 

Panting, he pulls out and collapses on top of Bucky, feeling their hearts beat in unison in the tropical hut. Although darkness has fallen in it’s entirety now, the Wakandan climate does not abate. 

As Bucky recovers Steve takes care of him, cleaning him up gently with a warm cloth, kissing him all over, telling him how good he is, how much he loves him. 

“Steve,” Bucky says when they are basking together on the palette. “When we are done with this shit, _really_ done with it, let’s come back here.” 

Steve smiles into Bucky’s neck. “I’d like that.” 

They have a long way to go, Steve knows this, but right now with Bucky in his arms it is easy to ignore the waiting world that calls his name. Bucky shifts beneath him, eyes closed and beautiful. 

Destiny isn’t something Steve believes in, as a rule, but he's fairly certain Bucky is his.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my first Stucky fic. If you want to make friends hmu as I'm brand new here. Where do you guys hang out?!


End file.
